"We get into the habit of living before acquiring the habit of thinking."
~ Albert Camus
Monday, October 15, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
a reminder....
that life is wildly, fantastically and amazingly beautiful. Even on a foggy, Maine day, there is beauty. Some times, we need reminding.
Labels:
lobster boats,
Maine,
photography,
photos
Espwa in Need
The difficulties of operating a 600-child orphanage that supports a Haitian staff of nearly 200 and also involves itself in far flung educational and housing projects, as well as some infrastructural and sustainable projects, cannot be underestimated. Pwoje Espwa operates on a yearly budget of about one million dollars (US) and certainly still has the infrastructure, capacity and need to spend a whole lot more. Operating funds contribute to everything from mattresses for the kids, animal feed, salaries, gasoline for vehicles, the occasional medical expense incurred from injury and disease, (600 kids in a tropical climate...), and so much more. Despite the farm, the project is unable to support itself (not even nearly). It relies heavily on charity and some key, larger NGO support.
Last week, I heard from the founder and director, Fr. Marc Boisvert. In response to my request for updates, he informed me that they are so desperately in need of help. They always need help but for him to mention it specifically... that really means it's dire.
At some point I had fantasized about helping create a more substantial or sustainable source of funds for Espwa. Though that project is always at the back of my mind, at this point it seems more realistic to just spread the word that help is needed. Miraculously, before I even had the chance to voice the plea, a friend contacted me and wanted to know where to send his money - out of the blue, just like that. If there are others of you out there who want to help out, go to the online donation site. You can also read about more specific projects at Free the Kids.
Thank you for all those who have helped, will help and who simply pray for and support this orphanage. Good things happen there.
Last week, I heard from the founder and director, Fr. Marc Boisvert. In response to my request for updates, he informed me that they are so desperately in need of help. They always need help but for him to mention it specifically... that really means it's dire.
At some point I had fantasized about helping create a more substantial or sustainable source of funds for Espwa. Though that project is always at the back of my mind, at this point it seems more realistic to just spread the word that help is needed. Miraculously, before I even had the chance to voice the plea, a friend contacted me and wanted to know where to send his money - out of the blue, just like that. If there are others of you out there who want to help out, go to the online donation site. You can also read about more specific projects at Free the Kids.
Thank you for all those who have helped, will help and who simply pray for and support this orphanage. Good things happen there.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
the travel Bildungsroman
Eat Pray Love and The Sex Lives of Cannibals have three things in common: they are books, they are topsellers and they are about travel. The two are not, however, both good. In an effort to see what folks are buying, reading and liking travel-log-wise, I read both.
Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love, does a fantastic job of exploring her emotional progress in various exotic settings. I began to drool while reading her descriptions of Neapolitan pizza and had fleeting fantasies about visiting Bali but overall learned very little about the people and places she encountered on her travels -- especially in India where she spends 99% of her time in an Ashram. Gilbert's true journey is not through the physical locations that create the setting for the novel but through her psyche. While the latter is a somewhat interesting as an exercise in introspection, it falls a bit short of satisfactory for the readers looking to read about exotic places and their inhabitants. One has the impression that one is reading the author's most intimate journal entries (especially during the encounters with her Brazillian paramour) -- so if you're into that, pick up the book, read and enjoy.
In The Sex Lives of Cannibals, Mr. J. Maarten Troost uses his odd-ball perspective, daily mishaps and victories to create an interesting picture of the folk of the nation of Kiribati (pronounced KEER-I-BAS, he will remind you several times). His sense of humor leaks through every page such that I often found myself laughing out loud (in public) as I read. Thankfully, he saves any self-psychoanalysis about his behavior, decisions and love life from the pages of his novel. The reader is therefore able to enjoy his adventures and get a sense for what it might be like to actually live in an isolated, Pacific, nation. This novel is a travel bildungsroman: we learn in the end that the shiftless youth has, in fact, grown into a man but he allows the reader to infer this through action -- there is little telling and much showing. And, too, we get a sense of who the I-Kiribati (kind hosts to this young man during some years of maturation) really are.
After reading these works, I must conclude that Ms. Conlin and Mr. Zimmand, two teachers that shaped my writing through an insistence upon the use of active verbs rather than the passive voice, terse and pithy prose, and passages that "show" rather than "tell" (SORRY for this sentence), were absolutely correct! I also concluded that should this blog, my journal and daily emails ever coalesce to form a creative work suitable for publication and public consumption, it should be more Troostian than Gilbert-esque.
I do hope Troost writes again to reveal to readers more crazy things in this world that we may or may not ever have the chance to see ourselves. Good author.
Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love, does a fantastic job of exploring her emotional progress in various exotic settings. I began to drool while reading her descriptions of Neapolitan pizza and had fleeting fantasies about visiting Bali but overall learned very little about the people and places she encountered on her travels -- especially in India where she spends 99% of her time in an Ashram. Gilbert's true journey is not through the physical locations that create the setting for the novel but through her psyche. While the latter is a somewhat interesting as an exercise in introspection, it falls a bit short of satisfactory for the readers looking to read about exotic places and their inhabitants. One has the impression that one is reading the author's most intimate journal entries (especially during the encounters with her Brazillian paramour) -- so if you're into that, pick up the book, read and enjoy.
In The Sex Lives of Cannibals, Mr. J. Maarten Troost uses his odd-ball perspective, daily mishaps and victories to create an interesting picture of the folk of the nation of Kiribati (pronounced KEER-I-BAS, he will remind you several times). His sense of humor leaks through every page such that I often found myself laughing out loud (in public) as I read. Thankfully, he saves any self-psychoanalysis about his behavior, decisions and love life from the pages of his novel. The reader is therefore able to enjoy his adventures and get a sense for what it might be like to actually live in an isolated, Pacific, nation. This novel is a travel bildungsroman: we learn in the end that the shiftless youth has, in fact, grown into a man but he allows the reader to infer this through action -- there is little telling and much showing. And, too, we get a sense of who the I-Kiribati (kind hosts to this young man during some years of maturation) really are.
After reading these works, I must conclude that Ms. Conlin and Mr. Zimmand, two teachers that shaped my writing through an insistence upon the use of active verbs rather than the passive voice, terse and pithy prose, and passages that "show" rather than "tell" (SORRY for this sentence), were absolutely correct! I also concluded that should this blog, my journal and daily emails ever coalesce to form a creative work suitable for publication and public consumption, it should be more Troostian than Gilbert-esque.
I do hope Troost writes again to reveal to readers more crazy things in this world that we may or may not ever have the chance to see ourselves. Good author.
Labels:
Eat Pray Love,
Gilbert,
novel,
The Sex Lives of Cannibals,
travel,
Troost
Sunday, September 30, 2007
things to see
"Hey! Look at that house hanging off the cliff up there!"
"Portia, if I do that, we'll drive straight off the mountain."
"Oh, it's too bad, there are so many interesting things to see."
"Sorry, I have to concentrate."
"It's OK, I'll just tell you what I'm seeing."
"Oh dear God, this will be scary..."
"Portia, if I do that, we'll drive straight off the mountain."
"Oh, it's too bad, there are so many interesting things to see."
"Sorry, I have to concentrate."
"It's OK, I'll just tell you what I'm seeing."
"Oh dear God, this will be scary..."
Labels:
photography,
South Carolina,
spider
Saturday, September 22, 2007
restructuring the frame
At times, it seems that this planet circles the Sun at a trillion miles per hour. The sun has barely risen before it is setting again and at the end of the day what have we to say for ourselves? What have we to say for ourselves at the end of a year? C.S. Lewis says that the process of living necessarily needs to be progressive. What, he ponders, would life after this be like if a vice that we let get perpetually worse through the decades continued to decline at the same rate for eternity? This, he muses, would truly be - perhaps the very definition of - a living hell: to live until infinity with, say, an irrepressible and worsening inclination to.... (fill in blank).
Each day, then, each moment, each breath should be trending in a positive direction. Easier said than done, right?
In some ways, I guess, moving to Haiti was an attempt to better myself as much as it was an effort to better the lives of others. Strangely, the two are connected and in devoting time the latter, the former just seems to happen -- same for me, I hope. But still, I neglected important things while living in that equally slow-paced and stressful environment. To tend to that neglect, I will have to do, for lack of a better expression, a little soul searching -- something I find much more difficult (and scary) than exploring dangerous developing countries. I have always been good at fun and adventure but have famously struggled a bit with happiness and peace.
This year will be an adventure but not like Haiti -- different but equally challenging and exciting and a whole heck of a lot less sweaty.
Not even a saint has a y=x2 correlation between time passing and improvements made. Rather, successful onward progress is directly correlated to our ability to manage, deal with and learn from both small and large tumbles. So I'm workin' on recovery skills. What child does not eventually pick himself up off the ground if he falls in the course of learning to walk? We are human and thus intrinsically flawed (19th century French thinkers debate this point... but let's just say). We will fall.
Each day, then, each moment, each breath should be trending in a positive direction. Easier said than done, right?
In some ways, I guess, moving to Haiti was an attempt to better myself as much as it was an effort to better the lives of others. Strangely, the two are connected and in devoting time the latter, the former just seems to happen -- same for me, I hope. But still, I neglected important things while living in that equally slow-paced and stressful environment. To tend to that neglect, I will have to do, for lack of a better expression, a little soul searching -- something I find much more difficult (and scary) than exploring dangerous developing countries. I have always been good at fun and adventure but have famously struggled a bit with happiness and peace.
This year will be an adventure but not like Haiti -- different but equally challenging and exciting and a whole heck of a lot less sweaty.
Not even a saint has a y=x2 correlation between time passing and improvements made. Rather, successful onward progress is directly correlated to our ability to manage, deal with and learn from both small and large tumbles. So I'm workin' on recovery skills. What child does not eventually pick himself up off the ground if he falls in the course of learning to walk? We are human and thus intrinsically flawed (19th century French thinkers debate this point... but let's just say). We will fall.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
what's up now...
I have blogging unfaithfully but, instead, furiously updating www.portiamills.com with photographs and stories that document what I learned and saw in Haiti. Please go check out the latest updates.
Soon, the blogging will recommence.... with some reflections on what it's like to be back in the land of the Super Size Coke.
Soon, the blogging will recommence.... with some reflections on what it's like to be back in the land of the Super Size Coke.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
updates to the site
Check out www.portiamills.com if you have not been there recently. I have been making changes to the site, some of which is still under construction. When it's finished, there will be several hundred photographs of landscapes and people that I took during my travels in Haiti.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
embracing my inner newcomer
Sometimes it takes a little extra push to engage one's "hometown" like a newcomer. The transients, expatriates, exchange students, etc. often take more energetic and aggressive attitudes toward meeting people, visiting places, seeing attractions and generally enjoying the town. In every major metropolitan area, there are publications, lists, books, sites and newspaper sections dedicated to highlighting the good stuff to do in town. Now that I am back in Washington DC (if for only for a year or two), I feel as though I must learn to engage the city of my birth like a spunky, native mid-westerner might -- embrace my inner newcomer, if you will.
In an effort to effect the latter, I called a college buddy, and incidentally a Washington transplant, to discuss/complain about my semi-self-imposed isolation in Chevy Chase. When I left for Haiti over eight months ago, I had friends and relatives who just moved down to the area in the last year. They were getting their bearings still when I left. Upon my return, I find them completely entrenched in all things Washington. And truthfully, I feel more admiration than surprise because I can easily see how this is analogous to building communities and friendships in Wells, England, Granada, Spain, and Les Cayes, Haiti, which I did without so much as a thought.
Though I am in the midst of applying for jobs, masters programs and hunting down a new place to live, there is no reason why I should not attend thematic happy hours, clubs, lunches, joining an association or two and maybe even (eep!) joining a kickball league... right? So... how to emulate those rose-colored shades and see my dear old friend, the capital of our great nation, as a recent transplant might?
Last night I joined a hill-staffer friend for dinner in Chinatown. We picked a bustling place -- one reviewed in a new, swanky Washington magazine as having excellent food. We were not spotted nor did we do much "spotting" but it felt like we were "somewhere," which is a start I think. Next I joined one of those "transplant" friends I mentioned at a thematic happy hour in Dupont. I had called him earlier and laughingly begged him to "reintroduce" me to my hometown. He did literally that -- presenting me to a wide array of his libertarian friends, many of whom write influential blogs and columns for local and national media engines and have a lot to say about national policy... how Washington.
One would think that it would be easier to assert oneself into an American community rather than a foreign community where language and many other things present constant barriers. Strangely, I feel more at home confronting those (usually artificially) boundaries as a transplant, no matter where, than I do learning to relearn my hometown. This time, though, I have decided to take it on as a challenge.
Watch out Washington, Portia's back!
In an effort to effect the latter, I called a college buddy, and incidentally a Washington transplant, to discuss/complain about my semi-self-imposed isolation in Chevy Chase. When I left for Haiti over eight months ago, I had friends and relatives who just moved down to the area in the last year. They were getting their bearings still when I left. Upon my return, I find them completely entrenched in all things Washington. And truthfully, I feel more admiration than surprise because I can easily see how this is analogous to building communities and friendships in Wells, England, Granada, Spain, and Les Cayes, Haiti, which I did without so much as a thought.
Though I am in the midst of applying for jobs, masters programs and hunting down a new place to live, there is no reason why I should not attend thematic happy hours, clubs, lunches, joining an association or two and maybe even (eep!) joining a kickball league... right? So... how to emulate those rose-colored shades and see my dear old friend, the capital of our great nation, as a recent transplant might?
Last night I joined a hill-staffer friend for dinner in Chinatown. We picked a bustling place -- one reviewed in a new, swanky Washington magazine as having excellent food. We were not spotted nor did we do much "spotting" but it felt like we were "somewhere," which is a start I think. Next I joined one of those "transplant" friends I mentioned at a thematic happy hour in Dupont. I had called him earlier and laughingly begged him to "reintroduce" me to my hometown. He did literally that -- presenting me to a wide array of his libertarian friends, many of whom write influential blogs and columns for local and national media engines and have a lot to say about national policy... how Washington.
One would think that it would be easier to assert oneself into an American community rather than a foreign community where language and many other things present constant barriers. Strangely, I feel more at home confronting those (usually artificially) boundaries as a transplant, no matter where, than I do learning to relearn my hometown. This time, though, I have decided to take it on as a challenge.
Watch out Washington, Portia's back!
Labels:
transition,
travel,
Washington DC
Monday, September 10, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Jobs 101 or 101 Jobs?
Qualifications:
• Masters degree in a relevant discipline plus at least three years of progressively responsible experience in the idustry supporting programs in Africa, the Middle East, Latin America.... Asia (East, West and South), the Confederate States of Micronesia and Antarctica.
• Proficiency in Arabic, Spanish, and/or French.... Urdu, Pashto, Farsi, Tagalog, and American Sign Language.... required.
• Experience with proposal development, developing new business opportunities.... microfinance, macrofinance, conflict resolution, peacekeeping, babysitting, thumbsucking....
• Strong writing and editing skills are essential.... have you been published??
As I skim through thousands of job postings, I am learning a lot more about what I want out of a job than what the job actually wants out of me. As I look at some of the posted qualifications, I have to wonder, does this declared ideal candidate actually exist? Just the same, I apply. I apply like mad -- averaging 10 to 15 applications per day. My fingers fly as I tweak different versions of my resume and rework cover letters. Perhaps at the end of this week I could forgo a continued job hunt and start my own business on how to perfectly tailor your CV to fit the narrow categories allowed by different job-posting sites and online auto-application forms.
• Masters degree in a relevant discipline plus at least three years of progressively responsible experience in the idustry supporting programs in Africa, the Middle East, Latin America.... Asia (East, West and South), the Confederate States of Micronesia and Antarctica.
• Proficiency in Arabic, Spanish, and/or French.... Urdu, Pashto, Farsi, Tagalog, and American Sign Language.... required.
• Experience with proposal development, developing new business opportunities.... microfinance, macrofinance, conflict resolution, peacekeeping, babysitting, thumbsucking....
• Strong writing and editing skills are essential.... have you been published??
As I skim through thousands of job postings, I am learning a lot more about what I want out of a job than what the job actually wants out of me. As I look at some of the posted qualifications, I have to wonder, does this declared ideal candidate actually exist? Just the same, I apply. I apply like mad -- averaging 10 to 15 applications per day. My fingers fly as I tweak different versions of my resume and rework cover letters. Perhaps at the end of this week I could forgo a continued job hunt and start my own business on how to perfectly tailor your CV to fit the narrow categories allowed by different job-posting sites and online auto-application forms.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
suspended... for the moment
One of Espwa's little boys hung some flowers from a spiderweb. It caught my breath to see the little blossoms suspended in air. Images like these - these kinds of memories - and faces like this little girl's float through my mind.
I have not posted in a week because I have been traveling and taking a short vacation. Internet access at my grandmothers and on Isle-au-Haut, Maine is more limited than in Haiti, it seems. Now that I am back in DC, you'll be hearing from me with greater frequency as I attempt to reorient my life in the post-Haiti phases.
Labels:
flower,
Haiti,
photography,
transition
Sunday, August 26, 2007
the scars to prove it
Once, there lived a young man who walked around with his beautiful, perfect heart on display for everyone to see. He showed it off, pointing out its flawlessness. All who met him marveled at the sight until one day he came across a certain old man. This old man also carried his heart where others might see it but his was not new-looking or perfect. It had pieces missing, gaps where ill-fitting pieces had been jammed, stitching, and deep fissures. When he saw this, the young man asked,
"Old man, why would you show off a heart like that one? Look at mine, how perfect and smooth it is." The old man smiled. Slowly, he lifted his heart and began to explain, gesturing with one bony finger,
"Each missing piece, each fissure is where I gave a part to someone else. Sometimes I received pieces in return. Some of those pieces fit and some didn't -- but I kept them anyway. Sometimes I gave pieces away but never got anything in return."
The young man looked down at the smooth sides of his heart, its flawlessness, its constant shape. Tears welled in his eyes. He was overcome with helplessness. Understanding immediately, the old man tore away a generous piece of his heart and offered it to the young man. The young man hesitated but then clumsily tore away a bit of his own heart, making room to fit the offering.
"That's a start," commented the old man and the young man walked proudly away, holding his heart high.
"Old man, why would you show off a heart like that one? Look at mine, how perfect and smooth it is." The old man smiled. Slowly, he lifted his heart and began to explain, gesturing with one bony finger,
"Each missing piece, each fissure is where I gave a part to someone else. Sometimes I received pieces in return. Some of those pieces fit and some didn't -- but I kept them anyway. Sometimes I gave pieces away but never got anything in return."
The young man looked down at the smooth sides of his heart, its flawlessness, its constant shape. Tears welled in his eyes. He was overcome with helplessness. Understanding immediately, the old man tore away a generous piece of his heart and offered it to the young man. The young man hesitated but then clumsily tore away a bit of his own heart, making room to fit the offering.
"That's a start," commented the old man and the young man walked proudly away, holding his heart high.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am back from Haiti (for now). I certainly have the scars to prove that I gave it my all: heart, body and soul. My legs are mangled from necessary motorcycle travel, my waist marred by massive jellyfish stings and my heart a bit broken. The leaving was bittersweet -- sad to leave behind the Espwa kids, good friends and meaningful work but ready to start a new chapter of my life. No doubt, I'll be back to visit soon and my work as a volunteer with Espwa will continue on a part-time basis from the States.
Please do keep up with my blog. I will still report on Pwoje Espwa and other events in Haiti on a sporadic but regular basis but the focus will shift to reflect, in photos and words, the goings on of wherever it is I happen to be located.
I am back from Haiti (for now). I certainly have the scars to prove that I gave it my all: heart, body and soul. My legs are mangled from necessary motorcycle travel, my waist marred by massive jellyfish stings and my heart a bit broken. The leaving was bittersweet -- sad to leave behind the Espwa kids, good friends and meaningful work but ready to start a new chapter of my life. No doubt, I'll be back to visit soon and my work as a volunteer with Espwa will continue on a part-time basis from the States.
Please do keep up with my blog. I will still report on Pwoje Espwa and other events in Haiti on a sporadic but regular basis but the focus will shift to reflect, in photos and words, the goings on of wherever it is I happen to be located.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
higher sea levels
This is the most damage that the streets of Les Cayes suffered in the Hurricane Dean aftermath. So far, only a few deaths have been reported throughout the southern department.
Labels:
flooding,
Haiti,
Hurricane Dean,
Les Cayes
Sunday, August 19, 2007
just brushed
The eye of the hurricane passed south of the coast of Haiti. Thus far there has been little rain and only tropical storm-force winds. A few trees fell and the water on the beaches rose several feet. The waves are actually quite impressive.
Our kids were all staying in the primary school for the night and are fine.
Hurricane Dean moves off toward Jamaica and has, thankfully, left Haiti relatively unscathed.
Our kids were all staying in the primary school for the night and are fine.
Hurricane Dean moves off toward Jamaica and has, thankfully, left Haiti relatively unscathed.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
before the strike
"Everyone" is watching the progress 0f Hurricane Dean except those in the Department of the South in Haiti. One does not find too many televisions and radios around these parts any how. Locals express incredulity that anything will actually happen (it has, afterall, been over 20 years since Haiti took a direct hit from a major hurricane). The sky is getting grayer -- taking on that yellow color that it often does before major storms -- and the winds are picking up. The vendors are still in the streets, their wares blowing back and forth. The government sent out alerts... but they are not doing much (they really cannot do much).
The market this morning was empty. No one is stocking water. The guy next door is still washing cars. The streets are full of activity.
The UN is doing what is possible in their limited capabilities to aid the local population -- but this is not exactly their mandate. But either way, no one else is here to do anything: preventative relief is not a priority for the global community so funding is nearly non-existant. Aid will come after; already some major huminatarian relief organizations gearing up to fund the "disaster zones."
If Dean comes too close, southern Haiti will suffer greatly -- even without a direct hit.
The market this morning was empty. No one is stocking water. The guy next door is still washing cars. The streets are full of activity.
The UN is doing what is possible in their limited capabilities to aid the local population -- but this is not exactly their mandate. But either way, no one else is here to do anything: preventative relief is not a priority for the global community so funding is nearly non-existant. Aid will come after; already some major huminatarian relief organizations gearing up to fund the "disaster zones."
If Dean comes too close, southern Haiti will suffer greatly -- even without a direct hit.
Labels:
Disaster Relief,
Haiti,
Hurricane Dean,
UN,
United Nations
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Hurricane Dean
No doubt about it, a big one's headed our way.
The Weather Underground has a pretty good series of maps if you care to view.
The sucker's getting bigger... We're just hoping it slips through Jamaica and Haiti and doesn't head north at any point. Otherwise, next week is going to be all about disaster relief.
Hurricane Dean.
The Weather Underground has a pretty good series of maps if you care to view.
The sucker's getting bigger... We're just hoping it slips through Jamaica and Haiti and doesn't head north at any point. Otherwise, next week is going to be all about disaster relief.
Labels:
Disaster Relief,
Haiti,
Hurricane Dean
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
a little help for some friends
Yesterday, a Uruguayan unit of the military branch of MINUSTAH went to visit St. Flora's orphanage on Ile-a-Vache. We asked them to help us help her by providing some "expertise" and "budget estimates." All morning, as we trooped around the property in the glaring sun, a little train of followers kept us company.
Among many things, the engineer was amazed at the antiquity of a the hand pump being used on the only operational well on the property. The "pump" has little rusted buckets attached to a leather belt, which reaches down 18.5 meters. The buckets splash water into a trough when someone winds the handle. Saying that Sr. Flora operates on a shoe-string is an understatement. Hopefully, with this added expertise, a project proposal that is in the works will bring much needed aid to Sr. Flora's 55 kids.
Among many things, the engineer was amazed at the antiquity of a the hand pump being used on the only operational well on the property. The "pump" has little rusted buckets attached to a leather belt, which reaches down 18.5 meters. The buckets splash water into a trough when someone winds the handle. Saying that Sr. Flora operates on a shoe-string is an understatement. Hopefully, with this added expertise, a project proposal that is in the works will bring much needed aid to Sr. Flora's 55 kids.
Labels:
ile-a-vache,
MINUSTAH,
orphan,
UN,
United Nations
Friday, August 10, 2007
Ankle-deep in Haitian mud
It rained all night last night and all night the night before that. Now the road leading to the farm is a 1-2 foot river. It's supposed to rain more yet...
Our cleaning lady holds hour-long conversations with the bathroom walls every morning.
Our cleaning lady holds hour-long conversations with the bathroom walls every morning.
Labels:
crazy lady,
flooding,
Haiti,
river
Thursday, August 09, 2007
stripping away belying smiles
Despite their tragic histories and less than ideal lives, the Espwa kids smile regularly and "fe desod" (act out) on a daily basis. In fact, catching any one of them in a pensive or sullen moment is rather difficult. Perhaps that goes to show how our screen-less and packed homes, three starchy meals a day and boundless, muddy farmland compare to the alternative, which is nothing - less than nothing - or death from starvation. Yesterday, Paige and I went out to try to "capture" some of the kids looking gloomy. We literally had to bribe them with candy -- and even still, we caught far too many smiles! But man, without a cheerful, toothy grin to hide the sorrow, their eyes reveal naked tragedy. They possess memories that no one deserves, let alone kids their age. This little boy (below) did not need any coaxing, however. It would be hard to exaggerate the harsh reality of going through life with one foot -- especially in a place where prosthetic limbs are only a fantasy.
Labels:
children,
Haiti,
kids,
photography
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Good News From Haiti
"Good news" is a sort of oxymoron in any case but it is especially rare for the Republic of Haiti, over 200 years independent, over 200 years of turmoil, violence and corruption. Lately, enough positive changes have occurred in the security sector, however, that it may be safe to say that today, there is some good news coming out of Haiti. One can only hope that with a bit more stability in the capital and the outlying territories, the government and outside investors will be able to help bring an end to the still rampant poverty.
Under President Renee Preval, elected in 2006, Haiti has begun to see peace in its streets. According to NPR's latest piece on Haiti, the UN stabilization mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH) "...has managed to control security because of Preval." Late last year, the president agreed to sign over more authority to the UN mandate, enabling peacekeeping troops to go after gang leaders in the anarchical streets of Cite Soleil.
Lourdes Garcia-Navarro of NPR writes,
Under President Renee Preval, elected in 2006, Haiti has begun to see peace in its streets. According to NPR's latest piece on Haiti, the UN stabilization mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH) "...has managed to control security because of Preval." Late last year, the president agreed to sign over more authority to the UN mandate, enabling peacekeeping troops to go after gang leaders in the anarchical streets of Cite Soleil.
Figures provided by the U.N. show the dramatic downward trend in the violence nationwide. In January 2006, there were 240 attacks on U.N. troops. Over the past four months, there have been only 12. Kidnappings are down as well: six in June, compared to 162 in December 2005.The commander in charge of the peace keeping troops, Brazillian Carlos Alberto Dos Santos, is responsible for spearheading this mission. Whether by luck or strategy, the "soccer-mad" Haitian residents of Cite Soleil resisted less to the presences of these foreign soldiers because a majority came from Brazil, a favorite soccer team.
Lourdes Garcia-Navarro of NPR writes,
Furious building is going on at city hall, another sign of improving times. But while everyone concurs that security has improved, Haiti is still a place of abject poverty. There is no fighting, but there also is still no work.The UN has a mandate to improve public buildings, but foreign aid will have to come from governments as well as private-sector organizations. Less violence and a more stable government infrastructure are the first steps needed toward greater investment. Haiti has a lot of potential; perhaps it is on the brink of realizing some.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
Tortured Contrasts
An old woman sits on a hill situated slightly west of Port Salut. A crop of dying sugar cane surrounds her and her rusty tin hut, which is no larger than a spacious outhouse. She sits facing away from this scenery, toward the road. She has a panoramic view of the southern Caribbean but not desire or ability to enjoy it. Only a few other thatched-roof huts speckle the landscape; each has a stunning coastal view and a resident blinded by poverty and structural violence. Haiti has stretches of coast with little or no development. The few beaches near more populated, waterfront towns are usually destroyed or literally covered with trash. With recent improvements to infrastructure (better bridges, paved roads, electricity) and slow but steady economic growth, the facts about this devastated Caribbean island could change. Miles of empty, turquoise water do not promise change any time soon, though. Even with some real achievements in national monetary policies and with GDP growth creeping ever higher, the government must still face major socioeconomic challenges. Human rights violations remain Haiti's greatest plague. This lingering and gruesome quality of a long-unstable government is painfully visible everywhere in the country and creates a stark contrast to the dazzling colors and uninterrupted panoramas.
Labels:
Caribbean,
Haiti,
photography,
sea,
tourism
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
...the darndest things
Blan: Looked they burned out the tree!
Timoun: Ya.
Blan: Think there're evil spirits in that hole?
Timoun: Hmm...
Blan: I think there are. Would you sleep in there?
Timoun: (silence)
Blan: Evil spirits...
Timoun: There aren't any. (pause) I'm not afraid of the devil!
Blan: Oh no?
Timoun: Nope! (kicking the air) I'd fight'em.
Blan: (looks at kid)
Timoun: Ya! (still shadow boxing) And 'sides, they burned that tree out to kill the evil spirits. So there aren't any any more. They're gone now.
Timoun: Ya.
Blan: Think there're evil spirits in that hole?
Timoun: Hmm...
Blan: I think there are. Would you sleep in there?
Timoun: (silence)
Blan: Evil spirits...
Timoun: There aren't any. (pause) I'm not afraid of the devil!
Blan: Oh no?
Timoun: Nope! (kicking the air) I'd fight'em.
Blan: (looks at kid)
Timoun: Ya! (still shadow boxing) And 'sides, they burned that tree out to kill the evil spirits. So there aren't any any more. They're gone now.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
too much of fire now
Reading M.S. Bell's biography on Toussaint Louverture, one cannot help but wonder what Ayiti, land of mountains (so-called by the Arawak Indians), looked like at the time of the famous slave rebellion against the French colonizers. Certainly, the verdure of the foothills and mountains exceeded that of even the lushest parts of present-day Haiti. Thousands of deserted slaves found cover in the jungle and rain forest that covered the steep terrain, which now mostly hangs in craggy, naked swaths above the limited plains.
The hills above Port-au-Prince offer a panoramic view of the capital city and the mountains around it. By day, the beige-colored land looks cracked and thirsty. By night, the hills still blaze in places where any vegetation remains. With nothing left to shelter the sun-baked land from tropical rains and winds, thousands die in mudslides like the one in Gonaive not too long ago.
Despite the senseless waste laid to the land here, sadly reminiscent of a destruction wrought all too often upon the people, the land retains a hint of its former ability to produce life. Magical places turn up suddenly and unexpectedly. In the mountains of the south, one still finds handfuls of untouched rain forest.
According to Bell's research, some still attribute Ayiti's 300+ years of tribulation to "the fact that the [slave] revolution was originally founded on fire instead of water," a statement based on the absence of Toussaint (who is said to have been protected by the water lwa - voodoo spirit) from the beginning and final stages of the revolution. Sometimes, in the face of intense structural violence, deaths from natural disasters and rampant poverty, this explanation seems as good as any other...
The hills above Port-au-Prince offer a panoramic view of the capital city and the mountains around it. By day, the beige-colored land looks cracked and thirsty. By night, the hills still blaze in places where any vegetation remains. With nothing left to shelter the sun-baked land from tropical rains and winds, thousands die in mudslides like the one in Gonaive not too long ago.
Despite the senseless waste laid to the land here, sadly reminiscent of a destruction wrought all too often upon the people, the land retains a hint of its former ability to produce life. Magical places turn up suddenly and unexpectedly. In the mountains of the south, one still finds handfuls of untouched rain forest.
According to Bell's research, some still attribute Ayiti's 300+ years of tribulation to "the fact that the [slave] revolution was originally founded on fire instead of water," a statement based on the absence of Toussaint (who is said to have been protected by the water lwa - voodoo spirit) from the beginning and final stages of the revolution. Sometimes, in the face of intense structural violence, deaths from natural disasters and rampant poverty, this explanation seems as good as any other...
Labels:
Haiti,
M. S. Bell,
photography,
Toussaint Louverture
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
drug trafficking crackdown for Haiti
One of the few realities to penetrate the smokescreen of fear, lies and sensational journalism that veils the true Haiti from those in the more developed west is that this complex island nation has a major drug trafficking problem. On Monday, the combined powers of the Haitian National Police and the U.S.'s DEA and special forces began a roll-up. These efforts have been met with some success:
Read the whole article here, (the truest and best article on the story, given my sources). One can only hope that this trend continues. The presence of drug traffickers corrupts so many levels of society, politics and security here -- not to mention the international implications.
Despite my intellectual comprehension of Haiti's dilapidated state of affairs, I still sometimes struggle with the notion that this place is my present reality. The neighborhood where the U.S. air-power swooped down to arrest Guy Philippe is only 10 minutes from my downtown office. Several times, Guy has sat a table over from me at the local watering hole and his wife (incidentally an American from Wisconsin) has exchanged pleasantries with me once or twice at a popular lunch place. Though I came to this country with multifaceted intentions, I had no idea I would find myself close, sometimes dangerously so, to history as it unfolds.
U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agents and Haitian police raided the home of former army officer Guy Philippe near the southern town of Les Cayes... Haiti, the poorest country in the Americas, has long been a key transshipment point for South American cocaine headed for markets in the United States and Europe... While the U.S. and Haitian agents failed to capture Philippe, they did arrest a hotel owner, Lavaud Francois, on drug trafficking charges on Monday, said Osman Desmangles, a spokesman for police in the northern town of Gonaives.
Read the whole article here, (the truest and best article on the story, given my sources). One can only hope that this trend continues. The presence of drug traffickers corrupts so many levels of society, politics and security here -- not to mention the international implications.
Despite my intellectual comprehension of Haiti's dilapidated state of affairs, I still sometimes struggle with the notion that this place is my present reality. The neighborhood where the U.S. air-power swooped down to arrest Guy Philippe is only 10 minutes from my downtown office. Several times, Guy has sat a table over from me at the local watering hole and his wife (incidentally an American from Wisconsin) has exchanged pleasantries with me once or twice at a popular lunch place. Though I came to this country with multifaceted intentions, I had no idea I would find myself close, sometimes dangerously so, to history as it unfolds.
THE FANTBULOUS FOUR-O
We call ourselves the Fantastic Four. We experience many adventures together (yes that's me on the backhoe).
After a little evening out, we braved our flooded living quarters together. Our names are (left to right in the middle photograph) Portia, Paige, Blood and Erin. We are superheroes. We have incredible powers. We - are - taking - southern - Haiti - by - storm... at least as long as the storms don't take us first (last night was wild).
After a little evening out, we braved our flooded living quarters together. Our names are (left to right in the middle photograph) Portia, Paige, Blood and Erin. We are superheroes. We have incredible powers. We - are - taking - southern - Haiti - by - storm... at least as long as the storms don't take us first (last night was wild).
in a glance
The southern region of Haiti is the lushest part of the country. The children at Pwoje Espwa eat 3 meals a day and attend school free of charge. Even the streets of Cayes are not completely filled with the sorts of deformed and crippled beggars and street kids that riddle descriptions of Graham Greene's Haiti (though, admittedly, most of Haiti has not improved since the penning of the Comedians).
Nonetheless, the poverty here disturbs. A visitor to our organization cried at the realities she encountered at Mother Theresa's home in downtown Cayes. She had been expecting Mexico-like conditions and instead encountered dejection, poverty and disease rivaled only in Bangladesh, Sudan, Somalia and the like. And yet, the Cayes area cannot compare to the Artibonite region and Gonaive.
The Espwa kids come to us from this reality. Though we cannot offer them everything, we can offer thousands of children a hope they might not otherwise know. We often kid about the face that might "make" Espwa's non-existent trust fund -- we want to do more for Haiti's future. So, we talk about the "honest-to-goodness fly-in-the-eye orphan." We know these exist and that this is no joke, but what we really mean to say is that we must capture that reality and bring it to the consciousness of those who might help.
Claudia's eyes may be bug-free and she may have parents (albeit, very poor ones who have trouble staying employed and can hardly even afford a one-room house in which to shelter their extended family of 7) but her eyes still have a look that one does not see in the developed world. Even with a smile on her face, her eyes have a nearly intangible, but certainly real, sad or wise look to them. What gives these children such a curiously deep glance at such a young age? Can they truly process an understanding of the unfair hand life has dealt them before they even reach the fabled age of reason?
Nonetheless, the poverty here disturbs. A visitor to our organization cried at the realities she encountered at Mother Theresa's home in downtown Cayes. She had been expecting Mexico-like conditions and instead encountered dejection, poverty and disease rivaled only in Bangladesh, Sudan, Somalia and the like. And yet, the Cayes area cannot compare to the Artibonite region and Gonaive.
The Espwa kids come to us from this reality. Though we cannot offer them everything, we can offer thousands of children a hope they might not otherwise know. We often kid about the face that might "make" Espwa's non-existent trust fund -- we want to do more for Haiti's future. So, we talk about the "honest-to-goodness fly-in-the-eye orphan." We know these exist and that this is no joke, but what we really mean to say is that we must capture that reality and bring it to the consciousness of those who might help.
Claudia's eyes may be bug-free and she may have parents (albeit, very poor ones who have trouble staying employed and can hardly even afford a one-room house in which to shelter their extended family of 7) but her eyes still have a look that one does not see in the developed world. Even with a smile on her face, her eyes have a nearly intangible, but certainly real, sad or wise look to them. What gives these children such a curiously deep glance at such a young age? Can they truly process an understanding of the unfair hand life has dealt them before they even reach the fabled age of reason?
Friday, July 13, 2007
creepy-crawly things i'm forced to live with
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